


you are the best thing that's ever been mine

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, day 6: gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Pippa can feel her cheeks flaming with guilt and embarrassment because, even though they had discussed spending Christmas together - had, in fact, made very specific plans about when, and where, and how they would be spending the holiday - somehow, the topic of gift giving had simply never come up. And Pippa had assumed -- erroneously, as it would appear -- that this meant that they were not being exchanged.But it seems that this is something about Hecate that hasn’t changed since they were younger. One could always count on her to be surprisingly thoughtful when it was least expected. And, as had happened so often in years now long since gone by, Pippa was left both profoundly touched, and a little bit speechless.





	you are the best thing that's ever been mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorites of the ones that I wrote for this challenge, so I'm actually really excited for this one. Also it's one of the longest, because I apparently just had a lot of feelings? Idk, I was going through it before posting and it's a little silly but this is definitely one of the most sentimental fics, I think. 
> 
> Also, the biggest of props to iliveinfantasies, who all but gave me the plot to this one and spent at least an hour talking it over with me when I couldn't figure out what the hell to do. She's the best and I love her.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

It’s the first thing that pops into Pippa’s mind when she sees Hecate standing in her doorway holding a small, rectangular package wrapped simply, but impeccably, in glossy midnight blue paper. The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Pippa can feel her cheeks flaming with guilt and embarrassment because, even though they had discussed spending Christmas together - had, in fact, made very specific plans about when, and where, and how they would be spending the holiday - somehow, the topic of gift giving had simply never come up. And Pippa had assumed -- erroneously, as it would appear -- that this meant that they were not being exchanged.

But it seems that this is something about Hecate that hasn’t changed since they were younger. One could always count on her to be surprisingly thoughtful when it was least expected. And, as had happened so often in years now long since gone by, Pippa was left both profoundly touched, and a little bit speechless.

“I’m so sorry, Hecate.” And she is, really. “I feel dreadful. It should have occurred to me--”

But Hecate, as always, is having none of it. “It’s nothing to worry yourself over,” she says, in a voice that Pippa recognizes to mean that she will hear no arguments on the matter. Her lips are pursed slightly, her tone the same as Pippa has always known it to be when a situation makes her uncomfortable. When she has begun to doubt a decision she had previously been secure in. “Truthfully,” she says slowly, cautiously, “it’s less a gift, anyway, and more something that… something that I’ve held onto for quite some time, that I feel it is time to return.”

And now Pippa’s curiosity is piqued. She racks her brain, trying to think of what of hers Hecate may have somehow come into possession of. What missing object from her past she might be about to unwrap. But she comes up empty and is quickly distracted by Hecate clearing her throat, requesting entrance. The formality of it all makes a smile tug at the corner of Pippa’s mouth, and it is all she can do to turn around before Hecate takes notice, leading the way into her living room.

She manages to set aside her curiosity just long enough to perform their usual song and dance, the one she has grown so familiar with over the last year. The little intimacies both tangible and not, that tell her what Hecate won’t with words. The way Hecate allows Pippa, unspoken, to vanish her cloak. The way she holds steady, comfortable and at ease, when Pippa eschews tradition and pulls her in for a warm embrace, her breath warm against the exposed skin of Hecate’s neck. The way she is permitted to take Hecate by the hand, to gently lead her, as though Hecate were not perfectly capable of following on her own. And it is both enough and not enough, never enough. Because Pippa understands the significance in every interaction. She sees, has always seen, the hesitance with which Hecate lets her in, a little more every time, a little closer, a little deeper.

This, too, is something about her that hasn’t changed. Something that is unlikely to ever change, not when Hecate minds herself so carefully, carries herself with such control, such caution, that Pippa isn’t convinced she even remembers what it feels like to let go of herself, much less that she is capable of actually doing so. But, as with all things in their relationship, no matter what its nature, it is different with Pippa. And Pippa is hardly arrogant enough to read any deeper meaning into that, no matter how badly she may want to, but it is a matter of simple fact. It isn’t arrogance to recognize that she is granted intimacy that others are not. To understand the amount of trust that goes along with that and appreciate that it is not something that comes naturally to Hecate. That it is a conscious decision on her part, to let Pippa in.

If anything, it would be callous to _not_ recognize that.

As callous, perhaps, as not giving her closest friend a gift on Christmas.

When Pippa looks up, she sees Hecate, standing a few feet away, the box still in her hands, and a frown, deeper and different from the one Pippa is accustomed to, creasing her brows. She looks almost… concerned?

“You don’t have to take it,” Hecate says, shrugging slightly. “It isn’t vital that I give you a gift, especially if it would make you feel poorly.”

Because of course, Hecate would find a way to trace the blame back to her own thoughtfulness, rather than Pippa’s lack thereof.

“Enough of that,” Pippa says, as brightly as she can, waving a hand as though to dispel the ridiculousness of the notion. “I want any gift you’re willing to give me.”

There’s a meaning there, behind her words, that Pippa desperately hopes Hecate doesn’t pick up on. Or that she does. She isn’t quite sure anymore. And the way Hecate swallows, lips pursed together, almost anxious, only adds to that confusion. But all she says is, “Very well,” and allows Pippa to lead her over to the overstuffed couch, exhaling softly as she sinks into its pillows.

Hecate’s grip on the box visibly loosens, but she doesn’t offer it, so Pippa reaches out for it herself. Her fingers brush along Hecate’s wrist as she does, and by the way Hecate startles momentarily before regaining her composure, Pippa is absolutely certain that Hecate felt the same jolt that she did, the same sparking of their magics coming into contact with one another, combining for the briefest of moments to create a miniature explosion at the point of contact, so slight that only they could feel it. Pippa can’t help the hitch in her breath when it happens, can’t help the way she leans, just slightly, in to the contact. To the feeling of her magic reaching out, finding Hecate’s, finding…

It’s a dangerous train of thought, and Pippa knows it. Knows better than to read anything into any of this. And so, it is with slightly trembling fingers that she pulls away, and with still-shaking hands that she slowly pries the tape from the wrapping paper, and it is only when Hecate scoffs fondly that Pippa comes fully back to herself, looking up to see Hecate’s eyes, soft and teasing.

“You still insist on wasting time attempting to preserve your wrapping paper, I see.”

“It builds the suspense!” It’s the defense Pippa has used for longer than she can remember. The one she used on Hecate, so many years ago, every time this particular argument came up. And she can tell that Hecate remembers, that she feels the same tug of familiarity, because the slight shake of her head, the long-suffering sigh, are all hallmarks of a dance long forgotten in their history, until just this moment.

“Gift giving is not meant to be _suspenseful_ , Pippa,” she says.

Pippa’s fingers still on the last piece of tape, purposefully holding off because she knows it will drive Hecate up the wall. “Of course it is. Why else would we keep them a surprise until the moment they’re given? Why else would we wrap them? What’s wrong with savoring the moment a little?”

“What is wrong,” Hecate argues, though there’s no real fight in her words, “is that it is profoundly trying on my patience.”

“And that, dear Hecate, is _your_ problem.” Pippa smiles her cheekiest smile and, in a moment of perhaps more daring than would otherwise be advisable, leans in and kisses Hecate on the cheek.

Hecate stiffens, and for one brief, horrifying moment, Pippa is afraid she has overstepped a boundary that can never be un-crossed. She has always been an affectionate person, has kissed Hecate’s cheek before in recent memory, even. But never in circumstances quite so private, quite so intimate, and Hecate’s personal space is a fickle enough concept to begin with. But as quickly as it comes, the stiffness dissipates, and Hecate’s hand finds hers, unbidden but certainly not unwelcome.

“Pippa,” she murmurs, and Pippa is absolutely _not_ going to read anything into the way something in Hecate’s voice sounds remarkably like longing. So she pulls herself back, her hand still trapped under Hecate’s, and allows herself one deep, shaky breath to get herself back in order.

“Well,” Pippa says softly, gently extracting her hand, “I suppose, since it’s such a burden upon your soul to wait for me to unwrap your gift, that I should get on with it, then.”

Hecate’s only response is a quiet “indeed,” tremulous and entirely unlike her. Her eyes are locked in on Pippa’s hands, on the box they hold, and Pippa can feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves, can sense the uncertainty she feels, no matter how well Hecate has trained herself to hide it.

Pippa carefully, gently pries the final piece of tape from the box. She hears Hecate’s slightly aggravated sigh, but ignores it, carefully sliding open the lid to the plain driftwood box. And she isn’t sure what exactly was expecting, what she had thought, in the back of her mind, Hecate might have kept for all these years. And truth be told, as much as she has drawn out the experience, the anticipation is killing her. But when she peers inside, all Pippa sees is a piece of carefully folded green satin with a delicately embroidered gold trim.

Pippa doesn’t put it together right away, takes a long moment to consider the object, before at last pulling it out of its resting place. As it unfolds, however, a wave of recognition hits her, leaves her stunned, breathless, completely at a loss for words. A soft “oh” escapes her lips, and she lets the fabric run through her fingers, smooth and cold and faded from years of disuse, but still clearly well-preserved, well taken care of… well-loved? But it becomes very, very real when she sees her name embroidered in perfect block letters in fine gold thread, right along the inside seam.

At last, Pippa looks up, sees Hecate, lips pursed and fingers dancing anxiously across her thigh, a nervous habit she has apparently never managed to break despite what Pippa is sure are her better efforts. “Oh, Hiccup,” Pippa breathes, and she can feel her throat closing up, the tears threatening to come at any moment.

Hecate opens her mouth, presumably to say something absurd about how she assumes Pippa doesn’t like it, doesn’t understand, thinks the gift is confusing at best or worse, simply stupid. But Pippa doesn’t give her a chance, doesn’t even entertain the idea of letting Hecate say whatever it is she planned on saying. Instead, she lunges forward, quite awkwardly, given the distance between them on the couch, and wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck in a vise grip.

“My school sash,” she whispers hoarsely. “The one I loaned you for your speech at Parents’ Night.”

Hecate looks at once relieved, and more anxious than ever. “I wasn’t sure you would remember,” she confesses quietly, one hand making its way with aching slowness up to rest on the small of Pippa’s back.

“Of _course_ I remember,” Pippa says fiercely. And she does. She remembers vividly the panicked look on Hecate’s face when she showed up at Pippa’s door long before the sunrise, whispering _I can’t find my sash_ as though her entire world is ending. Remembers her own bleary confusion at why this was something worth dragging her out of bed over. The hours they spent searching for it, every nook and cranny of Hecate’s room, Pippa’s room, any part of the castle or grounds where Hecate may, at some point in the last day, lost her school sash. The look of crushing defeat on Hecate’s face at the thought of having to face their teachers - and her father - on Parents Night out of uniform.

And she remembers her own last-ditch attempt at making things right, to save Hecate from what she knew would be one of the worst possible embarrassments for her. How she had taken her own sash, casually tossed it at Hecate, and said, “Here, just pretend it’s yours. No one will ever know.” How Heacte had tried to refuse, tried to tell Pippa that she shouldn’t have to bear whatever punishments would befall her for Hecate’s irresponsibility. How Pippa had refused flat out, saying, “Well, I’m not the one giving a speech in front of the whole school tonight, now am I?” And how that had shut Hecate up quite well, exactly as she knew it would.

It had never occurred to Pippa until this moment that she never got her sash back, and it was only shortly thereafter that Hecate had shut her out, and at some point, her missing sash had become the least of her worries where Hecate was concerned.

“You got detention for a week for that,” Hecate says softly.

“I remember now,” Pippa says, a small laugh bubbling up in her throat. “I told Miss Nightstone my cat clawed it up, and she told me my detentions were partly for making it to my fifth year with such a poorly trained familiar, and partly for not having the good sense to just ask for a new sash. It was worth it, though. Saved your skin, after all.”

“You did indeed,” Hecate says with a small, sad sigh that Pippa can already tell is the precursor for something dreadfully self-deprecating. “Though I’m certain you would have reconsidered, had you known how the rest of that year was going to turn out.”

“I absolutely would not have,” Pippa says sharply, firmly, and pulls away. “You banish that thought from your mind this instant.” She sounds as though she’s speaking to one of her students, she knows, but this topic of conversation will lead to nowhere good, for either of them.

Hecate, for her part, looks somewhere between astonished and chastised, like she wants to argue her point, but can’t quite find the right words to do so. Instead, she just asks, “Why?”

The words pop unbidden into Pippa’s mind. _Because I love you. Because I loved you then, and I love you now, and I loved you for the thirty years in between._

What she says, however, is simply, “Because you’re my best friend.”

And it may be her mind playing tricks on her, but Pippa could swear she sees Hecate blanch at the word ‘friend’.

A long moment passes, before Hecate says, her tone measured and cautious, “You were always such a good friend to me.” A pause. “Far better than I deserved.”

“That is absolute nonsense, Hecate,” Pippa snaps, surprised to find herself genuinely upset, “and I won’t hear another word of it.” Then, at Hecate’s stricken expression, she adds, softer this time, “ _You_ were _my_ best friend, too. I know what you thought, and how you felt, and I will always feel badly for any part I had in making you feel that way, but our friendship was never a one-way street to me. I…” the words she wants to say, needs to say, are right there on the tip of her tongue, and she can taste them, but they catch in her throat, hard and solid as though she’s choking. Pippa stares down at her hands, fists clenching and unclenching, helplessly.

She wants so badly to open the floodgates in her heart, tell Hecate how devastated she was when she left. How she hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn’t moved from her bed for a full week after their term had ended that year. How her marks had plummeted and all the other girls in their year had started to wonder what had gone wrong with her. How she was sure Hecate hadn’t noticed, preoccupied with her studies as she had always been, but Pippa’s mysterious depression had been the hottest topic in the rumour mill that term.

But none of those words would do any justice to the truth of the matter, even if she could get them out. “I _loved_ you, Hecate,” is all she can choke out, in the end, and she hopes, prays that Hecate will fill in the appropriate platonic sentiment on her own. “And it broke my heart when you left. And I thought… there must have been a reason. Must have been something I had done, or said, or something I _could_ do to bring you back to me. But you were my best friend. And even when I hated you, I never stopped loving you for that.”

She becomes aware of exactly what she has just said, exactly how accurately and honestly Hecate could take it, only after the words are already out. Only after it is too late to take them back. And when she glances up, sees the realization dawning on Hecate’s face, Pippa is seized by a sudden, panicked urge to change the topic to anything, anything except this.

“The sash,” she says, and the way the words sound hurried and rushed makes her cringe inwardly “Why… I mean, why did you keep it, for all these years?”

Hecate looks puzzled at first, then almost sad, and it takes Pippa a moment to realize that she has completely misunderstood the gift. That Hecate’s present was never meant to be just a sash at all, that it held so much significance that Pippa had somehow overlooked. The meaning behind it dawns on her, painfully late. That Hecate had held on to such a trivial keepsake for so long, taking such care to preserve it, to keep the memory of their friendship alive in some way, even across the divide of so many years. Her gift was the knowledge that no matter what had happened, some part of Hecate had never let her go.

And the words are so soft that Pippa barely hears them, thinks, at first, that she may have made them up. But the wetness in Hecate’s eyes, the shaky breaths, let her know that this is real.

“Because I loved you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


End file.
